


For the Brave of Heart

by welcomebackpartyhardy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Student Steve Rogers, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcomebackpartyhardy/pseuds/welcomebackpartyhardy
Summary: “Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way to make life more bearable. Practicing art no matter how good or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”-Kurt Vonnegut





	For the Brave of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sweet little character study of sorts I suppose that I wrote to cheer myself up as an artist. I thought other’s might find some comfort in it as well. I would be more than happy to write more of this if it peaks anyone’s interest! 

It was one of those perfect rare weekends. The one's Steve prayed for every week since the first month of the semester had passed: a weekend where his favorite on campus studio would be miraculously empty. By some divine grace his fellow art majors would decide to procrastinate and finally decide to leave it well enough alone to party and in doing so leave him and his canvases to exist in peace.

He gave a deep sigh of contentment; the weight of the boar bristle brush in his hand like an anchor for his relaxation as he gracefully swept it across the clean surface of a freshly stretched canvas, the smell of the oil paints and Liquin an earthy comfort. If Steve could successfully do this for the rest of his life he would without a doubt be a happy man. He relished the feeling, the comfortable isolation, he didn’t mind painting around others but there was truly something so special about the graceful dance between a perfectly channeled piece and it’s vessel without an ounce of distraction to cause a misstep.

Time seemed to slip away, so much so he’d apparently been far too entranced in his work to notice the other quiet presence in the room, making itself known through the sound of running water. He turned quickly to spot the source of the sound near the paint splattered sink. There filling up an old yogurt container of water stood a girl, over-sized sweater sleeves rolled up to her elbows, worn jeans flecked with the ghosts of old paint. He’d never seen her before, at least he’d never seen her in class before, and he wondered now who this stranger was to intrude on his perfect weekend.

He carefully turned back to diddle with his canvas as he watched her walk to one of the few tables in the far end of the room. A pad of large paper, two containers of water, small tubes of paint, a shallow pallet, and delicate looking brushes were sprawled out in a familiar but chaotic arrangement on the table. She dipped one of the brushes in the water and wet a small glob of paint in the pallet, practically caressing the paper as her hand glided seemingly upon it.

“You know my mother always said it was very rude to stare” she said in an almost laughing but quiet tone, voice startling Steve from his observations. Her eyes never left her work.

Steve cleared his throat in an attempt to reset his thoughts, “I-I’m sorry I just thought I was alone.” He felt his face heat up in the embarrassment of being caught, thinking he’d been quite stealthy.

She gave a small knowing smile, “Sorry for intruding on the trance pal. You honestly looked a million miles away I didn’t think you would mind a little company.”

“I don’t, just rare to get a day alone in here so taking advantage of the solitude is a luxury. Usually everyone else is finishing up assignments in here but I guess the latest Stark frat party peaked everyone’s interest enough to ditch homework for one weekend” he said with a shrug. Steve turned back to his canvas and began to add another layer of background to his painting. The soft robin’s egg blue calming his strange nerves.

“You not one for Stark parties? No offense but I was honestly a little surprised to walk in here and see a guy like you. You know? Built, blonde, a little…jock-ish? I’ve never seen you around before” she said, lips quirked in a thinking position.

He couldn’t help but give a small laugh. Steve was used to being misjudged for the jock type but it still gave him a strange little satisfaction to surprise people when he’d say he was a visual arts major. And that’s precisely what he did.

“Actually I’m an art major. Haven’t played a sport long term since junior year of high school. I haven’t seen you round here either. What’s a girl like you doing around here…you know…normal-ish?”

She caught the tinge of sarcasm at the end of the sentence, it got a quirked eyebrow out of her. “Oh so you _aren’t_ too off the frat boy type then huh? Just gonna assume all art chicks have to be weird, the ‘I worship Ginsberg on the weekends and watch Woody Allen movies’ (Which by the way, YUCK) types?”

He liked her little bite back, it was charming and frankly he wasn’t minding this intrusion too much now. “Well seeing as I’ve never seen you around here, and all I usually see in class are girls draped in black turtlenecks with 3 empty coffee cups around them trying to replicate some abstract expressionist piece, then yeah you kinda stick out from the weird norm. I hate cliches but sometimes they’re _very_ real.”

A cute little snort came from her corner of the room, Steve looked up to see her grinning, eyes closed as she shook her head in amusement. The paintbrush in her hand hovering above the paper finally, a strange little sense of pride swelling up in his chest knowing he had broken her focus just as she had his. He went back to his work again, a small satisfied grin on his face as he laid the outline of the figure he had in mind in a rich brown.

It went comfortably silent for a moment. He took another peak at her, arms slightly crossed, brush still in one hand, she looked at him with an amused smile, face seeming to think something over. She began to walk over to him and he felt the tinge of a thrill.

“My name’s (Y/n), (Y/n) (y/ln)” she said, sticking out her hand for a shake. Steve couldn’t help but notice the small stain of crimson pigment on one of her fingertips, a charmed grin gracing his features at it.

“I’m Steve, Steve Rogers” he replied, his much larger warm hand meeting hers in introduction. A touch of robin egg blue streaking along the skin of one of his knuckles. She found herself trying to rub it away with her thumb, the action not registering as awkward to her. The oil of the paint feeling cold and slick against her finger. She looked up to find a unfairly radiant smile on his face, a scalding heat crawled up to grace her cheeks at it.

“Shit, sorry! Habit I guess” she said shaking the daze from her head. Truly a smile that dashing could cloud a girls brain. He gave a rumbling chuckle and she hated to admit it but it made her knees a little weak too. They both looked down to realize they hand’t ended the hand shake and awkwardly took back their hands with nervous giggles.

“So (y/n) why exactly haven’t I seen you around here before?” he asked to break the growing tension. The art building was a sea of all kinds of people yet Steve had honestly never seen her in the two years he’d spent walking and working within it’s walls.

“I don’t know, just started coming here recently. The art building I mean. I made the fool hardy decision to change majors at the last minute before starting this year. Imagine spending a full year studying medicine just to realize you weren’t doing it because you wanted to. My parents sure weren’t pleased to know I traded pediatrics for paintbrushes” she said, rubbing at her neck in what Steve considered a completely understandable sense of anxiety.

“Yeah most people would probably call it a little foolish,” he said with a nod only to have that god awful familiar sense of dread start to cling on to her insides, “BUT if you ask me, doing what you really want in life is pretty damn brave and art ma'am, art is for the brave of heart.” A sweet sincerity swam in the pools of his blue eyes as she looked up in surprise. Jesus Christ, he was trying to kill her wasn’t he?

“Thanks Steve,” her voice sounding a little wobbly, “I haven’t really talked to anyone about it much since the change. As you can imagine the feedback wasn’t so nice. 'Oh (y/n) why are you wasting your life like that!? How are you gonna make a living!?’ You know the same old shit. My parents have wanted for me to be a doctor since I could walk.” It really did mean a lot to her to know someone understood. Months had gone by with her feeling alone in the decision. She had felt so sure of it initially but it was hard to shake the negativity it had caused to befall her and had ultimately started filling her with doubt. Until now that is…

“I get it. Came from a military family myself. You could basically say I was raised to be a soldier. Dad served during the Gulf war and I followed along thinking I had this legacy to maintain after he’d died when I was 10,” he explained with a far away look in his eyes it was as if a former Steve was speaking, “Decided to break the cycle after my last tour. I started to realize I didn’t agree with the ideas running around at the time people were joining for either. The whole sentiment of nationalism and othering after 9/11, it wasn’t right. I decided I couldn’t continue to be a part of that. My old military friends tried to convince me to stay but I couldn’t. I decided I was done and made my life about me. Not some ghost of a legacy I had no obligation to continue.”

The air had gone still suddenly. Maybe the over sharing had taken it’s toll or perhaps the heavy look on Steve’s face had invited a thick cloud of sadness around them, a history left unspoken and lingering in the air. She reached out a hand and placed it lightly on his shoulder, the small touch grounding Steve again as he shook his head. He felt suddenly embarrassed to have droned on about something a little too heavy during an initial conversation. But looking at her now he saw nothing but calm empathy grace her features.

“God I’m sorry. Talk about over sharing” he blurted out. Her hand fell to grasp his in a comforting gesture. “Hey it’s fine. Seems like the two of us have a lot of things we need to let out” she said with a scrunch of her nose to lighten the mood. She let her hand fall back to her side, the other pushing the paintbrush she had been gripping the whole conversation behind one ear. “You might be right about that. Anyway change of subject!” he said with a clap.

“Do you mind…if I look at what you’re working on?” he asked sheepishly. A bright smile beamed at him, the dark cloud dissipating with it. “Not at all! I was about to ask the same honestly” she answered. They walked over to the smooth black table her tools still lay waiting for her.

Upon the stark white of the watercolor paper was the beginnings of a portrait in bright crimson, the face’s basic features already set in place, highlights and shadows waiting to accentuate the makeup of whoever it was meant to be. Steve wondered how long time had passed for her to have done so much already without him ever having noticed her come in, let alone work. He realized she must have been considerately silent as not to bother him. Her control of the lines within the features of her subject were mesmerizing, the thinness of the closed line of the mouth, the thick line of a brow, charming his eyes as they studied the piece.

“Well (y/n) I’d say trading in those biology courses for watercolors was a wise choice. I mean I know its the bare bones right now but this is already fantastic.” His fingers lightly grazed the small bundle of brushes laying beside her pallet as he spoke, their bristles soft as silk. It was funny he thought, the difference between their mediums and tools. His brushes were anything but small and delicate, they were hefty and a little coarse with use and cleanings in solvent. He hated to think so cornily but it was like a mirror for the two people in the room.

“Thank you so much Steve, you’re sweet! Now,” she said in a bright tone, “Let’s see what you’re working with.” She glided over to where Steve had set up his easel and canvas. He stayed a few steps behind her and the work station, feeling a little self conscious suddenly. A smile was plastered on her face as her eyes scanned every inch of the canvas. The brightness of the blue reflected in her black pupils.

“Jeesh I shoulda’ bothered you a good while ago. Could’ve gotten some tips. This is a falcon isn’t it?” She said giving him a radiant and genuinely curious look. If Steve hadn’t known better he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at the sun she had for a face looking up at him. He could practically hear the questions churning through her head too.

“Yeah. Its for a friend. One of the few military buddies I got left, Sam. He actually goes to school here for child psychiatry. It’s his birthday in a few weeks so I thought he might like it.” He came to stand next to her now that his insecurity had washed away.

“He’ll love it. You really have control of that paint. I tried oils once when I was younger. I found it so hard to manage their consistency, let alone figuring out how to blend them without making them look like a streaky mess. You blend so beautifully I’m jealous. Those layers of feathers are going to look so realistically fluffy and beautiful when you go in for the details.” Her eyes fell between the blue of his eyes and the piercing ones of his falcon as she spoke.

“You know for someone who hasn’t taken art classes you got the lingo and a little experience under your belt so it seems” he said, a little glint of pride in his eyes at her compliments. He noticed the encouraged and determined smile that began to blossom on her lips at his comment, it was honestly ridiculously endearing.

“Self teaching can go a long way if you want it to…” her eyes began to scan the wall across from her, her face struck with panic as her eyes landed on the clock across the ways of the studio, “Shit is it really 4 already!? I was supposed to meet with a friend to study for one of my core classes like 20 minutes ago! Fuck, I gotta go, sorry Steve!” She moved at a break-neck speed to pack up her things. The pad of watercolor paper delicately and slowly closed unlike her others things and slipped into her portfolio bag like a precious gem. The gentleness of the action made Steve smile.

It suddenly dawned on him that the second she left the room he may never see her again, his chest began to tighten with what he assumed was sadness, looking back down at his canvas in worry. He probably had never seen her before because she’d been in introductory art courses whilst he’d moved on to more advanced ones, clearly their schedules hadn’t allowed for a crossing of paths either. She was about half way through the doorway before he could turn and stop her. He watched her old boot take it’s last step out the door and sighed. He sunk down on the stool he’d been using to sit and paint on not glancing at the spot she’d occupied.

But when he’d finally looked up, a little tent of white paper called to him against the black of the table. He walked over a little faster then he cared to admit and picked it up. There written on a scrap of paper, to his great relief, where she’d clearly been testing out her color mixtures in simultaneously neat but illusive handwriting was a note and a number:

_It was great meeting you today Steve!_

_Call me! We can get coffee, tea, what a cliche..WHATEVER…let’s discuss method sometime ;)_

_-(y/n)_

Steve couldn’t stop the grin on his face from reaching unbelievable proportions.

Yep, it really was a perfect weekend and he would _definitely_ be praying for more just like them to share with another brave heart…


End file.
